


daemon seed

by tsunderestorm



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Breastfeeding, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 11:58:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13787229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: Ardyn exacts his revenge upon the Caelum line not by ending it, but by re-making it.





	daemon seed

**Author's Note:**

> Is this another extremely self-indulgent fic? Yes, it sure is. Good.
> 
> I included the "mildly dubious consent" tag just in case. Please heed the warnings...if Noctis pregnant with a daemon baby isn't your thing, turn around.

When he lays down to sleep in the run-down motel his dreams are plagued with Ardyn, but he’s... _wrong_. His skin is sallow, dripping black goo like tears from sunken sockets, his eyes glowing yellow like a daemon’s. When he strips his clothes off he is covered in scars, oozing miasma from every pore. It mats his hair to his chest and coats his skin like oil, sticky and shining.

In Noct’s dream Ardyn fucks him over and over again, lays him down on a bed in a third-rate motel room that has seen more bodies than he can imagine, countless desperate lovers and hidden indiscretions. _My revenge,_ he hisses in his ear as his tongue flicks out (gods, he swears it feels _forked_ ) and licks around his ear, breath rancid and hot. _They denied me, and they’ll deny you when you, too, are full to bursting with the daemons._

Noctis already _feels_ full from Ardyn’s cock thick inside of him, from the heavy, full weight of his balls searing hot against him, from the scourge that he can already feel coursing through his blood, infecting him, burning him, _branding_ him and the worst part is that he _likes_ it. Ardyn is handsome even with the scourge dripping ichor down his face, big and broad and so _good_ at what he’s doing that Noctis can’t help the way he asks for more, desperate and cock-hungry even as he’s _terrified._

The dream spins, re-situates and Noctis is watching himself from somewhere far away: his belly is swollen, distended, full and pregnant. Tiny, clawed hands press at him from the inside, begging to be let out, leaving fleeting handprints across the taut skin. Begging be free, calling out to something. To someone? _To Ardyn,_ Noctis knows in his dream, the daemon growing inside of him, _turning him._ He longs for Ardyn. He _aches_ for him.

When Noctis wakes from his nightmare, he tears the sheet back from his body and looks at his stomach, hands dragging harshly across it. There is nothing there but fleeting wrinkle lines from the sheet pressed close: no swollen belly, no insidious black swirls of scourge weaving its way through the veins of his stretched-tight skin. Only the softness of his stomach that won’t reveal chiseled muscle no matter how hard Gladio tries and sleep warm skin.

_Just a dream_ , he tells himself, chest heaving as he fights to calm down, swinging his legs out of bed even as his whole body aches and complains, When he looks in the mirror, though, there are fingerprints on his hips and in the shower his fingers find scourge between his legs, dripping out of him and swirling down the drain. He watches it dilute from inky black to translucent cloudy grey as it spins away and thinks _my gods, it wasn’t a dream._

—

The first morning he wakes up and rushes to the bathroom with his hands clasped tight over his mouth, he thinks it’s food poisoning. Ignis holds his hair back from his face and rubs his back in soothing circles, sings him a lullaby he hasn’t heard since he was a child as he’s retching into the toilet, ignoring how badly it burns on its way up his esophagus. The second morning his stomach is churning ocean of nausea he dismisses it as an unhappy coincidence, ignores the way Ignis’ brows furrow together and even _Gladio_ suggests they stop for the night. 

When the watery contents of his empty stomach comes up with black pieces scattered in it, though, he panics. As he watches the black bile drip down the pure, pristine white of the toilet bowl he remembers Ardyn’s promise from his dream: They’ll deny you, too, when you’re full of daemons.

_Full_ , Noctis thinks, eyes wide as his hand moves to his stomach. Dimly, he remembers his dream, remembers himself long-months pregnant, the startling clarity with which he dreamt daemonic hands like stamps on his skin. Remembers the way Ardyn had fucked him, raw and passionate and with a sense of _purpose_ , flipped him over onto his hands and knees and buried himself deep as he spilled load after load into him, the way he’d growled _mine._

_It's not possible,_ he thinks, but a voice at the back of his head tells him that it _is._

_—_

Ardyn returns one morning in Lestallum, when it’s sticky and hot and Noctis is staring at himself naked in the streaky mirror, awake too early and none too happy about it. His chest is sore and there’s a swell to his belly that isn’t from Ignis’ delicious pastries he can’t seem to get enough of.

“Hello, Noct,” Ardyn says, hazel eyes flashing yellow as they lock with Noctis’ reflected in the mirror. “Admiring ourselves, are we?”

Noctis shakes his head and moves to turn, but Ardyn plants his hands on his shoulders and holds him steady. Before he can move his hands to cover the slight swell of his stomach Ardyn’s eyes travel there, _fixated_ as as he takes in the sight. “Just wanted to see if I had any injuries from a hunt earlier,” he lies.

_“_ It _worked,”_ Ardyn says when Noctis relaxes, clapping his hands in delight. “Not that I had any doubts, with a fertile little thing such as yourself. The seed has indeed been planted, it seems.”

Noctis can’t look him in the eye. He can feel Ardyn’s eyes on him, greedy and _hungry,_ practically feel the satisfaction radiating off of him, the smugness dripping from his every word. When Ardyn is done with his delighted clapping, he brings his hands to Noctis’ arms, squeezing in a way that’s almost reassuring before his calloused fingertips brush over his too-sensitive nipples with a rumbling laugh before they drag down to his belly. Softly, he rests them there in way that’s almost _tender_ , fingers knitting together over his baby. _Their baby,_ Noctis thinks, just like in his dream.

“Now all that’s left to do is nurture it,” he purrs in Noctis’ ear, and despite the early-morning sunlight streaming through the window and his three friends asleep in the suite, Noctis lets himself fall into Ardyn’s hands. 

What else is there to do? He lets Ardyn feel him up, allows the man’s greedy hands to caress him from the tops of his thighs to to his cock hardening in eager response to touch, head lolling back onto his shoulder as he watches them in the mirror through heavy eyes. Ardyn’s hands drag over the firm swell of his ripening belly, again over his sore tits, nipples wet with the milk he’s starting to produce. It seems so dirty, so exhibitory to let himself be touched, especially in the _state_ he’s in but he does nothing to stop it, rests his hands on Ardyn’s hairy forearms as he’s fondled.

“Full to bursting with daemon seed,” Ardyn repeats quietly, kissing Noctis’ neck and smirking as the prince reclines luxuriously against him. “Just as I promised you, remember?”

Noctis remembers. He has the constant reminder growing in his belly, growing more powerful by the day, has the hungry, self-satisfied way Ardyn looks at him to make sure he never forgets that he’s been _claimed_ in ways the others could never even begin to imagine.

—

When their baby is born, it is...off. He is so frighteningly _human_ , with his ten tiny fingers, ten perfect toes, lungs that suck in enough air to give that first cry of reassurance, a heart that beats rapid-fire beneath his ribcage when Noctis presses his ear to it. So what if the digits have too-sharp fingernails like _claws_ at their tips? And his eyes - they are not Ardyn’s hazel or Noctis’ stormy blue, but startling yellow, sick and bright. _Daemon eyes_ , Ardyn whispers fondly when their child looks at them for them first time. Human, but not.

The wings, though... _those_ aren’t human at all. They are wet, sticky things - thin, veiny, sickly membranous. Ardyn takes him from Noctis’ grasp and separates wings from skin, pulling deftly to avoid hurting him as they flutter weakly, new and useless. Their baby’s teeth are sharp, white like pearls before the brackish black of the spit that burbles happily from his throat stains them.

“What an absolute darling,” Ardyn coos, offering the daemon a finger to grasp at as he smoothed the customary Caelum steel-colored hair back from his brow.

Ardyn lowers the newborn to Noctis’ breast with a hint of reverence, brushing his lover’s hardened nipple for the satisfaction of a stolen shudder and a drip of tainted milk to suck off his own finger before the daemon baby latches on. The scourge seeps from Noctis now, too - thick and viscous from his lips, his eyes, the tip of his cock when he cums under Ardyn’s hands - the milk dripping freely from his nipples is no different. The baby consumes it eagerly, clawed fingers too nimble to be human tugging at the skin greedily, tiny fingers pulling Noctis’ nipple to its rancid mouth. Drinking the milk, the miasma, the fruits of their labor reaping the benefits of their unholy union.

Noctis tickles the baby’s tar-black hand with his fingertip as he suckles and contemplates the immensity of his situation. In a Citadel in a reality that shouldn’t exist, in bed with a man who shouldn’t either, their baby conceived in a dream and nurtured by night in his arms. He marvels at the wings cradled against his little back, the teeth biting him bloody as the baby drinks, the scourge coursing its way through him and surging up like a tidal wave when Ardyn so much as _touches_ him and wonders if history will forget him the way it wrote out the Crystal’s first sacrificial lamb millenia ago. Then again, he supposes he’s as deathless as The Accursed now, father to a daemon-child, once the Crystal’s blessed Chosen and now something else, maybe eve something _more_. 

“He’s kinda cute,” Noctis admits as the baby coos, forked tongue flicking against Noctis’ over-sensitive nipple and his milk-heavy breast. “For a daemon.”

“Oh, the babe is just _perfect_ , as is the man who birthed him. Noct, you do realize you’re no longer just a king? Your ascension was not onto a throne but into the arms of something even the gods couldn’t defeat. Your defiance of fate was...ah, in a word, inspiring.” Ardyn praises, lifting Noctis’ messy hair away from his ear and nuzzling against it, biting down on the spot beneath it when Noctis tries to jerk away, eyes never leaving the baby at his breast.

“Nice to hear you singing my compliments, old man,” Noctis teases, adjusting his hold on the baby and wincing as his teeth clamp down on his nipple, turning to Ardyn for a brief second to placate him with a kiss.

“Oh, but of course. The Crystal, the Astrals...against all we have become,” he promises with his lips inches from Noctis’, grandiose as always as he pulls Noct back against his chest and slips an arm around him to help cradle the baby as he nurses. “Against all that we have _made.”_

Ardyn has won, but not in the way Noctis had originally feared when he’d thrown around words like _revenge_ and _ruination._ He’s foregone death and destruction of the line his brother started in favor of something different, something deeper and more powerful: a baby in this _new_ Chosen’s belly born of the two most powerful Caelums to ever live.

  
artwork by the lovely and talented Alma ♥ 

**Author's Note:**

> I am [tsunderestorm](twitter.com/tsunderestorm) on twitter if you'd like to chat!


End file.
